


Useless

by talefeathers



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Divergence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, [massive shrugging], probably, that's all this is it's just gratuitous angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving a distressing call from Hughes, Mustang rushes to his aid, only to arrive too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useless

**Author's Note:**

> I am sure there are logistical reasons this Could Not Have Happened but bear with me and enjoy the angst.

“Call from Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, in Central, on a public line.”

“Again?”

Mustang tried to be exasperated, but couldn’t stop the barest twitch of a smile. He couldn’t understand where Hughes found the energy to be such a busybody, always checking in on everyone even though God knew he had enough work to do. Always doting on that wife and kid of his, and yet never shirking even a bit on his military duties. No part of his life ever took a backseat to make room for another.

Never mind the energy, Mustang thought; where did he find the _time?_

“Put him through,” he sighed, waiting for the click of the call being transferred.

“I’m here,” he said once the line had switched. “If you’re bragging about your daughter, I’m not listening.”

Silence met him from the other end. Odd for any phone call, but especially odd for Hughes. Mustang furrowed his brow.

“Hughes?”

Still nothing -- no, wait. Mustang focused in on something faint in the background, something rhythmic, ragged.

His stomach dropped. Breathing. Labored breathing.

“Hughes?” he called again, panic creeping into his voice. “Hey, Hughes!”

There was another moment of silence, broken only by the faint, sharply taken breaths. Then Mustang started when this was abruptly cut off by the sound of the receiver being dropped back into its cradle.

“Damn it!”

Mustang slammed his own receiver down, heart pounding in his ears as he tore out of his office, almost colliding with Lieutenant Hawkeye on the other side of the door.

“What is it?” she asked, registering his distress immediately.

“We have to get to Central,” he said, continuing past her, knowing she would follow.

Hawkeye didn’t ask anything more, trusting her superior officer to give her the information she needed as she needed it. Mustang led the way to his car in silence and set them on a swift course to the bustling capital.

\--

“Where is the closest public phone to Central Command?” Mustang asked once his muscle memory had gotten them within a few miles of the military command center.

“Three blocks, then a left,” Hawkeye supplied. “You may want to slow down, Colonel. It’s close, you don’t want to blow past it.”

Gritting his teeth, Mustang eased off the gas a bit, tried to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. A good thing, too, because once he took that left it was all he could do not to slam the brake and whiplash them both.

A pair of legs, protruding limply from the lone phone booth. A puddle of blood, stretching its way across the empty sidewalk.

Mustang shouldered his way out of the front seat, not even bothering to turn off the ignition. He sprinted the distance to the phone booth, dropped to his knees the moment his feet touched blood.

“Hughes!”

He took the lieutenant colonel’s face in his hands, turned it toward him. Tried to ignore the fact that his skin already felt cool beneath his fingers.

“Wake up. Damn you, wake up! You’ve got a family to think of, you idiot! Hughes, wake up! _Hughes!_ You idiot…”

He crumbled in spite of himself then, pressing his forehead to his friend’s, closing his eyes against the blurriness that wavered into them. Too late. Hughes had called to him for help, and he’d been too slow. Raining or not, he was useless, _useless --_

“Colonel.”

A light hand touched his shoulder: Hawkeye’s. Mustang forced himself to exhale, only turning once he was sure he’d recomposed his features.

“We have to tell Central Command about this,” she said, appearing the utmost professional but for the tension in her jaw.

Mustang said nothing, turning back to his ashen, blood-stained friend. She was right, of course, but who could put this into words? Who could possibly convey the enormity of what had been lost?

“If you would like to guard the scene of the crime,” Hawkeye continued, “I can take the car and alert the homicide department. With your permission, of course.”

He let his gaze linger a moment longer before he turned his back on the bloody booth, moving to sit on the curb just in front of it.

“Granted,” he said. 

Hawkeye gave him a salute before rushing back to the car. The headlights faded as she sped for the Central Command Headquarters, leaving Mustang and his bloody charge in darkness.

For a moment, there was only that; Mustang seated silently on the sidewalk, letting his eyes slowly adjust for the change in the light. When the moment passed, he spoke, voice gruff.

“I will find whoever did this to you,” he said. “I promise you that. And when I do, I’ll burn them inside out.”

He gave a single, bitter laugh.

“I’m good for that much, at least.”


End file.
